Pour Out Your Heart
by Chicken Scratchings
Summary: Booths past has been following him for years. What will he do when confronted with it face-to-face? Who will he turn to? ...3 guesses..
1. Chapter 1

**Since my other fics have all seemed to have been left hanging somewhat, I decided I wouldn't post a new story until I have actually finished it. So that's what I've done ******** This is angsty, but hopefully you'll enjoy it anyway. Please review!**

**Disclaimer: Bones = not mine. **

**Booths POV**

I woke up screaming and immediately regretted it.

My frantic shallow breathing had made my stomach revolt and I threw my upper body sideways so I could dry-heave over the floor, rather than myself.

Always a great way to start the day.

When my gut finally conceded that there was nothing in my stomach to throw up, I pulled myself upright and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. I checked my watch, and although it was cheap and had a crack down the screen, it still read the time well enough, so I didn't much care.

21.33

Okay, so maybe 'starting the day' wasn't quite accurate.

With a grunt, I pushed myself off the floor, using the bed frame next to me to help me up, and, stepping over a snoring mound on the floor next to me, made my way over to the bathroom. My throat had burned raw and I cupped my hands under the trickling tap water and threw the water into my mouth with all the grace of a starved animal. Ahh, God. I relished in the simple act and as the heat died down I started to get washed.

There wasn't any soap, except a rather hairy attempt in the bathtub, and I didn't dare touch that. Instead I just scrubbed at my face with my wet hands and hoped it would work.

For the first time that morning, after standing at the sink for a good twenty minutes, I looked up.

I did a double-take when I saw myself reflected in the grungy mirror. I was a wreck. How the he11 had I managed _that_? I'd been washing my face in tedium for so long that my cheeks had turned a vicious shade of pink. And I _still _managed to look like a piece of filth. My jaw was hollow and darkened with a few days unshaven which helped bring out the dark circles under my eyes. I winced at the image, and this just stretched a long graze I'd gotten the night before across my cheek, sending it from down towards my earlobe and up nearer my left eye. My hair had grown out from the military cut and was half-way between stylishly ruffled and 'shaggy dog'. It was also greasy enough to fry burgers. My brow, which has always been kind of heavy anyway, seemed to have dropped even further over my eyes, as if it was in a race with my nose to reach my chin. No matter how hard I tried to raise it, it barely moved from its permanent scowl, and I soon felt like a total idiot making stupid faces in the mirror.

I was wearing a plain white vest, but it had turned a grungy shade of grey and brown and was soaked through with sweat from my rather vivid dream. My jeans could've done with a wash. About a week ago.

Woah. When had _that_ happened?

I shook my head and rubbed at my temples where the nightmare from earlier still raged.

Back in the room, I heard someone grunt awake. I leaned in the doorway and looked down at the mound on the floor, who was now stretching his entire body, with his eyes still closed.

"Hey Joe, I didn't wake you did I?" I asked.

He blinked blearily for a puzzled moment, as if only just realising I was there. "Wha- Oh. No, man. Nah, I just woke up, y'know. Didn't even hear you in there." He let out a yawn as he stood up and cracked his back, with painful sound effects. "What time is it?"

"Almost ten. You reckon we should wake Ace?"

Joe's thick ginger eyebrows shot up for a quick second, then he shook his head. "No way, you wake up Ace when he's sleeping, you get what's comin' to ya." He looked round the small room, as if searching for something, then fixed his gaze on the corner by the single bed, and cheered, "Ah!"

When I saw what he had found, it occurred to me that I should probably find my shoes too.

When we were both fully dressed, me in my green jacket and him in a hideous waterproof cagoule the colour of gone-off pears, we had a quick check on the sleeping man who had put us up for the day then we headed back out into the bright lights of the Vegas Strip.

Joe was a wiry guy, with a shock of ginger hair and hollow cheeks. I'd met him on my first tour but had fallen out of touch with him since becoming a sniper. Bumping into him in a casino the night before had been a stroke of luck for me, since I had no place to stay and he did. At least, his buddy, Ace, did. All the same, I was grateful for him, even if I didn't know him very well at all.

I still felt sick from my harsh awakening, and so he'd suggested we come and make me feel better by winning a hand or two on the card tables.

"Thanks man." I muttered as we turned down a street with enough bright lights to illuminate a small mid-western town.

"Don't mention it. " Joe grinned at me easily and slapped me hard on the shoulder. Already, I could see his eyes lighting up at the prospect of a big win.

As we walked further down the road, I became increasingly aware of how bright those damn lights were. My head pounded and even through a squint, I found I couldn't quite look up properly.

"Hey, you okay man?" Joe asked as I winced from the light for the millionth time. He seemed distracted; we were reaching his favourite casino, and his fingers were already twitching.

"Yeah…yeah, I'm fine." I assured him, through a growl. "I just… These lights are just too damn bright."

He frowned, I think. I wasn't really looking at him. I was too busy trying to stop my head pounding enough so that I could hear what he was saying. "What? They're not all that bright. Just neon, man. You sure you're okay?"

I couldn't even answer him. The pounding in my head was just so _loud_. It hurt, oh, God, it hurt, but I'd been through worse, right? Countless countries, countless faces. Gun shots weren't too bad, because at least you could pass out later, knowing you were back safe on the home turf. The pipes were bad, though. The torture, where they wouldn't let you pass out. Keeping you conscious so you could feel it all; every cut, every burn, every bruise. I'd gotten through all that. Then why was this, a damn _headache_ so hard for me to deal with?

I seized Joe's arm and he half-led, half-dragged me away from the street and down another alley, darker, quieter, with no other people.

I slumped down on the ground and gripped my head with my fingernails, just praying for it to stop. With each pulse of my heartbeat, more pain lashed through my skull. And with each throb, now came a flashing snapshot of me, looking into the bathroom mirror, my eyes cold and surrounded by darkness, my face hollowed and beaten.

"Look, man," I barely registered Joe's voice as he said, "You're okay, right? Just, sit there for a while, 'til it goes. I'll- I'll be in the casino, right? Just round the corner. Just for a bit. I'll be back later or something. Just, stay here, okay?"

And with that, he turned and fled out the alley to find the nearest Craps dealer.

And I was alone.

And as my head raged with the fruit of my nightmare, through the pain, and the throbbing, and the flashing pictures, I had an epiphany.

**Hey, so what did you think? I have this story finished pretty much. It's not too long, and I hope to post one every day, when possible. Please review and tell me what you think. Thank you! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed or added this story to their alert thing, it's great that you all seem to like it so much. :] Here's the next chapter, back in the present. Hope you like it. **

_**7 years later**_

"Aw Bones, this is a new suit!"

"Deal with it Booth! Collapsed buildings tend to be quite dirty."

I scowled and brushed some dust and ash off my pants.

Bones carried on past the police tape and headed towards where the fireman had directed her. Before us stood a small cabin, just large enough for one or two people to live in. Although 'stood' was perhaps the wrong word to use. More… wobbled. The building was still smoking from the fire that had ravaged its already flimsy structure, and what was left was mostly black and caving in.

Bones moved past the building and headed around behind it towards where the back door would have been. Lying little than four feet from the door was an exceptionally badly burned body, sprawled forwards with one arm reaching forwards as if trying to crawl away from the fire.

She pulled some gloves out from her overall pocket and knelt down next to the body.

"Woah, Bones, that does _not _smell healthy." I walked up behind her and wrinkled my nose at the smell. "What you got for me?"

Bones squinted at the remains and answered in the precise tone she always used when examining a body. "Male. Mid to late 20's. Caucasian. An accelerant was definitely used; this fire was savage."

I frowned. "Accelerant? That mean homicide then?"

"I'm not comfortable jumping-"

"-to that conclusion. Yeah, I know Bones." I sighed, though it was only put on. Secretly I found her odd habits endearing. "Just, it's possible right? Even probable?"

"Yes, although until Hodgins can identify what exactly the accelerant was and how it spread, it will be impossible to tell whether it was accidental or not."

"Sure Bones, 'cause gee, if I spilt gasoline on my friend I'd definitely make sure I lit it too. And run off, without trying to put him out or tell someone about it."

My Bones glared up at me from where she crouched next to the victim. "Sarcasm, "she stated coolly, "does not help in an investigation." She turned her attention back to the burnt man. "And who said anything about his 'friend' lighting him on fire?"

"You rarely get murdered by a stranger Bones."

"Which, while statistically correct, would still indicate that the deceased and his murderer were, in fact, _not _friends. I wouldn't set you or Angela on fire."

"I'm touched Bones."

"It's true."

"I'm sure it is."

"Good."

"…"

"Booth, why are you laughing?"

"No reason, Bones." My voice came out somewhat choked. I tried to hold back the smirk on my face, but was having immense difficulty, especially since she was looking up at me with those crystal blue eyes with such sincerity.

Eventually she rolled her eyes at me and turned back to the remains. After a minute or so more, she stood up and declared that we had to take it all back to the Jeffersonian and that she could find out the rest from there.

As we drove back in comfortable silence, I wondered whether or not to bring it up, or if I should wait for a better time.

"Just cough it out, Booth."

I blinked a couple of times in surprise and glanced at my partner. "Er- what?"

She turned to me and fixed my gaze with hers. "What ever it is that you want to say to me. Just cough it out."

"Spit, Bones, just _spit_ it out."

"Oh, right. Well, spit it out then."

I frowned at her and found myself amazed at this woman yet again. "Um, well, it's just a favour actually. That I wanted to ask you, I mean."

She looked at me with open eyes and said nothing, waiting for me to continue.

I found myself stumbling over the words in my head, struggling to bring them together to form a complete sentence. It was like prom all over again. I mentally picked myself up, and decided to start with the facts, before the question.

"Well, an old buddy of mine is getting married next weekend. He's asked me to go, and I'm going to, obviously, and I got Rebecca to keep Parker this weekend, so that's all sorted. Because it's a long way away, I'm going to have to stop there, it's going to be all weekend, and-"

"Booth," Bones interrupted in a tone that warred between amusement and concern, "You're rambling."

My mouth flapped open and closed stupidly a couple of times before I regained my composure. "Um, well I was wondering if, er, if…"

While I floundered around like an idiot kid asking a girl out for the first time, Bones just gazed unblinkingly at me. Her chin was rested on the butt of her palm, with her elbow propped up against the arm of the seat. She seemed perfectly content to watch me flail about like a fish out of water, and from the gentle, but persistent, turning up at the corners of her mouth, I could only assume she found my fluster somewhat amusing.

"-if you could water my plants for me." I gushed.

Her brow immediately creased in a frown. "What?"

My head screamed at me. _What the hell was that? _If I wasn't so horrified at myself I would have laughed. "Er-"

"But you're only going to be gone for the weekend; you don't need to water your plants every day. " She carried on, oblivious to my internal shock-horror. "Some plants can survive for exceptionally extended periods of time without watering. It depends on the species. What plants do you have?"

The amount of house plant species I knew, I could count on my fingers. Desert plants, jungle plants, I could name. Even bouquets, since I'd bought enough of them. But those little ones that people had in pots on the windowsill? That was a different matter. "Um, blue ones." I replied lamely.

Bones raised an eyebrow. "It's not really necessary, but if you want me to, then I'll water them for you."

"Thanks Bones." I muttered, and tried to sink into my seat a bit more, desperate to leave the conversation.

The rest of the journey passed in silence. Bones stared leisurely out of the passenger window, and I fixed my gaze on the road, my eyes wide and my mind racing in annoyance.

Note to self: Buy some blue plants.

**Please review if you liked it, and if you didn't please let me know what you didn't like about it :] Thanks**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks again to any reviewers! Here's the next chapter. Slightly shorter than usual, but still, I hope you like it :]**

"Booth!" a voice boomed from across the bustling hotel lobby.

I turned to face the source of the noise and spotted a towering figure of a man, almost bear-like in build. His close cropped hair was a deep black and he sauntered over to me with each step oozing confidence. The buzzing crowd that had gathered in the small lobby parted for him like the sea in wake of a galleon.

A huge grin stretched across my face and I replied "Mark! The man of the hour."

He returned my grin with an easy going smile of his own that reached up to his rather prominent ears, his brown eyes shining. When he reached me he clasped a hand on my shoulder and pulled me into a crushing embrace. We exchanged a couple of hard handed back slaps and parted. Now, _that_ was a guy hug. If Bones ever found out, I don't think I could show my face round the Jeffersonian lab again. Angela would be a menace.

I shuddered off the embarrassing thought and said, "How you been, Mark?"

"Never better." He answered promptly, and I could tell he meant it.

"How's Julie? Stressing out yet?"

He laughed. "She's…busy. But otherwise fantastic." He arched an eyebrow at me. "It's been too long Booth. How's life treating you? You found a woman to make a decent man of you yet?"

I groaned lightly through a smile and shook my head. "Not yet man."

He frowned slightly and asked, "What about that partner of yours? The one you're constantly buzzing around."

"Wha- I do not buzz, okay? And no, Bones and I, we're just partners."

He snorted but couldn't quite manage to keep the smile of his face that I assumed had been pretty much permanent these last few days. "Hey man," his voice dropped a bit, and I suddenly the conversation fell into a more serious tone. "I wanted to call you before you got here, but what with all these last minute details and everything, I got a bit sidetracked." He hesitated a moment, as if unsure how to say whatever was on his mind. "I know this must be a bit hard for you, but it's what both of us always dreamed of doing, you know. I didn't think until I sent you the invite. Sorry man. "

My insides dropped slightly and I felt my mouth go dry. "No Mark, don't be, seriously. It's no problem. This is your day, yours and Julies. I'm just honoured to be here."

His expression relaxed a bit and he said "Thanks Booth. But honestly, if you need anything-"

"I'm fine." I cut him off, trying to plaster the smile back on my face that had felt so natural only a moment ago. I let out a quick laugh. "It's _your_ wedding day, and you're worried about _me_?" I shook my head. "I thought I'd be the one having to keep you breathing evenly this weekend."

His grin returned in full force. "You're a good man Booth." He checked his watch and bit his lip unconsciously. "Look, I've got to go. The soon to be parents-in-law are set to arrive any minute, and I got to meet and greet. You'll find your room okay?"

"Yes, _Mom_. I've already checked in."

He rolled his eyes and started back towards the front desk. "See you in a bit Booth. Starting early tonight: we're going out on the town!"

"I know. Good luck."

Mark shot me a wide eyed panic expression over a massive beaming smile and hurried out of sight.

I checked my key-card. Room 306. Slowly I made my way over to the elevator and headed in silence up to the third floor. I didn't feel like dancing to the monotonous elevator music.

I passed through a non-descript corridor and into my room. It wasn't exactly a five star suite, but it sure as hell was better than anything the Bureau ever stumped up for.

I threw my bag onto the double bed and checked the mini bar. Forget the extortionate prices, I needed a drink. Unscrewing the cap off a mini bottle of Jack Daniels I made my way over to the window and leant against the wall.

Last time I'd been back here was undercover. I'd been Tony out for a fight, an FBI agent out to catch a murderer. That was all I'd had to think about: the case. It was all I'd allowed myself to think about, (with one small exception). All the same, I hadn't been _me. _

I took another swig and rested my head against the cool glass.

I stood that way for a while, taking it all in. After my breath had misted the glass too badly for me to be able to see clearly anymore, I lethargically jerked myself off the wall and set the now empty bottle on the bedside table. I turned my back on the shining lights of Vegas yet again and grabbed a towel. By the time I got out of the shower, the window had completely steamed up, and only the blurring outlines of neon shone through.

**Thoughts? Yay or nay? Let me know by hitting the review button, thanks! **


	4. Chapter 4

**Next chapter, enjoy. =]**

Music blared so loudly across the packed club that it made the floor pound violently to the super-speeded beat of some sort of techno dance remix. There was a dozen or so of us scattered about the place. Most draped themselves off the bar, but a few of the most inebriated of Marks friends had braved the dance floor. As usual in these kinds of places, it was always the guys with the least rhythm and the worst coordination that felt the need to get up and dance. Tonight was no exception. Kyle and Rob had been in a competition to see who could down the most shots in one minute. By the time that minute passed, the competition was mostly forgotten and the pair of them decided it would be a good idea to show off the moves they'd thought so effective at scoring girls back in high school.

A few of us watched with huge amusement as Rob attempted some sort of pop-lock move that largely resembled a kind of rodent mating ritual. Kyle meanwhile, was doing an amazing impression of a pensioner style boogie, only at 5 times the speed, scuttling round and round in a tight circle around Rob.

We roared with laughter at the decidedly unimpressed expressions on the women next to them. It felt _good__**. **_The grin on my face wasn't forced, although it was possibly helped along by the couple of drinks that had been compulsory on Mark's last night as a bachelor. I briefly thought about what Bones might say about the guys dancing, how it all stemmed from an ancient imperative to impress the female, or some even more confusing anthropological idea that I had trouble getting my head round.

The smile slipped off my face for a moment as I thought of my last conversation with Bones in the Jeffersonian when we'd returned from the crime scene.

"_Here's the spare key. I'll be back Monday."_

_She takes it without looking up from her microscope and slips it into the pocket of her lab coat. "Have a nice trip."_

"_Yeah." I start heading back to my car, mentally running through any florists I can remember that are between the Jeffersonian and my apartment. "Well, um. Bye."_

I winced again at the memory. Mark, tamely drunk, scrutinized my expression then yelled to the barman that we needed another round of drinks.

"Hey, Mark, I was wonderin'," Josh shouted in a slur, a moment later, over the monotonous drone of the music, "when are we gettin' out of here? I's Vegas! We gotta see Elvis, and beat 'im at poker!" He laughed louder than he yelled.

"Just as soon as we can get us all back together again. Then we'll hit the strip, man." Mark eyed the pair on the dance floor, who now seemed to be veering dangerously close to break dancing. "I reckon we should tear Kyle and Rob off the floor before they break something."

"Good idea!" Josh roared, and immediately set about rounding up the rest of our group, despite his drunken haze.

My mind panicked, but I kept it off my face this time. I reminded myself the need to breathe – in through the nose, out through the mouth - and kept repeating it to myself on a loop. We hadn't even got to the casino and my palms were already sweating and my mouth was dry.

But, behind that panic, there was a part of me, that was larger than I'd ever truly acknowledged, that was rubbing its hands in anticipation, already hearing the unmistakeable sound of chips stacking up. The sound of winning. The prospect of walking away with a fortune, always within such close reach, only one roll of the dice away, one turn of the card. More money than I could ever need, laid out in front of me, mine for the winning. If only I could stick it out for one more hand, just one more bet.

The thrill of it, more exhilarating than the actual aftertaste of the win, is the tension, the _possibilities_ that it opens up to me. I could be anything, anyone. Existing in a shrinking world that extends only to the length of the table and lets me see nothing but the green cloth covered in chips and lines and dice and tears. Every sense is alive. Each curve and angle is so sharp, every colour amplified and only the sound of my own racing heart echoing in my ears. The smell of the sweat from the person next to me, as they watch their chips bleed away. Tension, tight as razor wire, lying on my tongue, flavouring my dry mouth with salt and sweetness. The smoothness of the dice in my hands, rotating steadily through my fingertips, the tiny indentations the difference between wealth and poverty. Focusing on nothing else. The people surrounding the table exist as I do, charging the air, making it electrifying.

I need to keep going, because there is no stopping until I've won it all.

Just. One. More. Bet.

I realised I'd stopped breathing. It felt like I'd been stood there motionless for an hour, but Mark was still laughing next to me, his gaze following Josh as he tried to pull Rob and Kyle off the dance floor by brute force.

I realised in that moment that I couldn't do it. I wasn't going to deliberately enter a casino when I didn't have to. Lead me not into temptation, right? It was my friends wedding; I wasn't going to ruin it for him by throwing myself back into a world I thought I'd escaped. And what about Parker? He deserved a better Dad than one like mine; nothing more than an addict who couldn't control himself. I already had too much in my past to make him ashamed of me. I refused to add anymore.

But these words paled next to the sudden violent urge in my chest that seemed to pull from the core of me, whispering fiercely to follow Mark and Josh and Kyle and Rob and taste the win and nothing else. I couldn't move an inch for fear of what I might do, that it would be the first step in the wrong direction. _Or the right one. _It would lead me back to my life of desperation 7 years ago. _Not if I did it right this time. _But I wouldn't do it right. It was impossible to do that. I'd just lose it all again. Fight to get it back, only falling further and further away. _Then stop. Stop if I lose all the loose bills in my wallet. Can't hurt, right? $100 maybe? Think of that in comparison to what I'd get if I won. _I wouldn't be able to stop. That was just wishful thinking. The thoughts of an addict, not worthy of a son who loves him, of friends who respect him, of a partner who-

I stopped in my tracks. Thought-wise anyway, since I was physically frozen solid.

Bones.

I drew in a quick, ragged breath. My Bones. Last time I was faced with this craving, this need, she'd been there. She'd taken my mind off my own personal hell, asked me if I was ok, and slapped my hand away from any slip up I made. I knew right then that if I was to make it through tonight, and the rest of the weekend, then she needed to be here. I needed her to be my distraction, my rock. Bones would be the one to save me from myself. I believed in her, and I knew that if I asked her to, she would come for me and help drag me out of this gutter I'd managed to drop myself into, yet again. I almost felt sick at the thought of her seeing me like this. But as the whispering started becoming more of a screech, I knew I had no choice. I just hoped she would forgive me. I just hoped she would not think less of me. I knew it was impossible, but all I could do was hope.

Motioning with a stiff jerk of my head to Mark, I managed to shuffle my iron legs out of the packed dance hall and back outside. There in the street the music was only an echoing thudding through the brick wall, and the cool breeze helped me regain some sort of coherent thought. With trembling fingers I drew my cell phone out of my pocket. I hit speed dial one and waited for the call to go through.

It only rang twice.

"Dr. Temperance Brennan."

"Bones?" My voice was hoarse from not breathing.

"Booth? I thought you were at a wedding." I guess she must have noticed the husking, almost desperate, tone in which I said her name. She sounded worried. "Are you ok?"

"How soon can you get a plane to Vegas?"

There was a brief pause as my words sunk in. For the thousandth time in the last hour my breath held in my chest, refusing to be expelled until she spoke again. I sent a quick prayer skywards and closed my eyes, waiting for the time lag to catch up. I didn't have to wait long.

"I'll be at the airport in half an hour."

**Hope you liked it. As usual, please review. Thanks :]**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hope you're still liking this story, there's only a couple more chapters after this one. Thanks so much to reviewers, your support for this story has been amazing! =] **

I snapped the phone shut a moment later, my breathing already starting to steady; but still nowhere near even.

I clutched the phone in my hand, gripping it fiercely and pressing my knuckles to my forehead. My eyes had closed but I couldn't remember exactly when I'd stopped being able to see. The wall I was leaning on seemed oddly numbing, as though it was shaping itself to the hunch of my back, rather than the rough bricks grasping at the fabric of my shirt and grating at my spine, which I was sure is what should have been happening.

She was coming for me.

In spite of the relief that washed over me as I thought those words, I could not escape the over-whelming sense of failure that marred its arrival. I wasn't the one who needed to be rescued. Not ever. I was the protector, keeping my little brother from my father's iron-fist, fighting for my friends under heavy fire. I had sworn more than once in my life that I would make sure that someone I love would be safe. The first was Jared. The second was Teddy; the kid of my group, like my own adopted little brother. I grimaced at that thought, the feeling of failure intensifying until my chest felt too tight to breathe. I moved along the mental checklist, trying not to linger at the image of his young face in my mind. I knew my face had fallen into an expressionless blank, as it always did when I thought bad thoughts.

The third was Parker. The shame almost crippled me then, more so than the pain of remembering Teddy. Both hands clenched into fists at the thought him seeing me now; shivering outside some dive in Vegas, unable to control myself, a part of me only focused on dragging myself back to the shining lights, and softly furnished décor, the sound of money cascading into the tray of a slot machine, smooth tables that just reeked of money as you ran your hand along its edge, leaning over it to see the dice before anyone else, the grin spreading across your face as the chips stack up, the winning streak, never ending, all in such close reach, if I could just get to a casino and an ATM, I could-

Stop.

I shivered, and it had nothing to do with the cold.

Back to my original train of thought. I glared mentally until those kinds of bad thoughts had all resumed their original place in the back of my mind. Not gone, just quieted. A persistent breeze, ready to explode into a hurricane at the slightest blow.

Parker. I expected the shame this time and so was more prepared when it hit me. I braced against it and managed to think coherently. I knew he deserved more of a father than me. He's such a good kid; bright, happy, kind. That's not something you can say about many 7 year olds. That they're kind. I welled with pride from my son, and it felt so _good_ to be feeling an emotion that didn't make me want to turn to stone.

One day, I would make this up to him. I vowed to myself with fierce conviction that at some point, sooner rather than later, I would be the kind of man that he deserved as a father. Not just better than my own painfully poor excuse for a dad, but someone he was worthy of.

But not today.

*

Six hours is a long time to be stuck in limbo.

I'd have laughed at that irony if I was in any state to do so. As it was, I didn't even notice.

Mark had found me sat on the sidewalk outside sometime after I'd phoned Bones. I couldn't really tell how long I'd been there. My thoughts were too erratic to be keeping time at all. It mustn't have been very long because when he pulled me back inside the club the others were all still there, ready to leave. No one seemed put out that they'd had to wait for Mark to come find me, but to be honest, I wasn't really paying enough attention to their expressions to notice.

My face had composed itself into the hard eyed blank that I wore whenever I felt the boundaries of my uncomfortable thoughts being pushed too close for comfort. At least it wasn't as bad as when someone else was the one pushing too much; that was when I usually got angry. More than one person had gained black eyes from not knowing when to stop prodding and pushing at me, whether to get me riled up or to get me to open up; it didn't really matter. Sweets had been lucky more than once. It was only through immense control and severe jaw clenching that he'd come away from a couple of our conversations unscathed.

This time though, I had no one else to blame. And so I was only angry at myself.

Mark could tell I wasn't right but he knew me well enough not to ask what was bothering me so much. Instead he just took in my hard expression and rigid stance and called a taxi back to the hotel. I was grateful he didn't offer to stay with me, to make sure I was alright. This was his night, before his big day. He11 if I was going to ruin it for him.

The taxi dropped me off outside the hotel entrance and I got out without a word, thrusting some bills at the driver before I could ask him to take me somewhere else. Somewhere I knew I shouldn't go.

I took the stairs, needing the pacing movement to keep me focused. I ended up walking up one floor too high, and having to turn around and come down again. Eventually I got to my room, my pace speeding up until I reached my door. I fumbled around my jacket pocket to find my room key, feeling more hurried, more rushed, just desperate to be inside.

With a 'ping' the light flashed on the key-swipe and I shoved the door open. As soon as I was inside I slammed the door behind me and threw the key on the floor.

I stomped over to the small window and jerked the curtains across the view, but the thin fabric couldn't quite hide the blaring neon lights that shone from the streets outside.

Disgusted, I turned my back on the window and headed into the bathroom, desperate for a shower. I kicked off my shoes and I started to strip off my shirt but as I pulled my vest over my head and dropped it to the floor I caught sight of myself in the mirror.

It didn't take much for my mind to start filling in the gaps on my face. The circles under my eyes darkened to a deeper shade of violet and my jaw became coated in an uneven stubble. My hair grew out into a shaggy mess and my eyes became bloodshot. My pupils threw back no light whatsoever, instead seeming to draw it in as if they were absorbing the life out of the rest of my face, leaving only a wide eyed darkness in its place.

I jerked my head in an unconscious twitch and suddenly the image disappeared, and I was back in the mirror again, looking exactly as I knew I did now, my skin a slightly sickly pallor and my face frozen in a mixture between horror and nausea.

Completely forgetting my shower, I sank to the floor and leaned my head back against the wall, legs sprawled in front of me.

Stop.

The passing of time became something irrelevant and inconsequential. I just stared at the tiles straight in front of me and tried not to think. Numbing myself from it all. My face set in cool, hard marble, carved out by an apathetic sculptor. For all I knew, I could have been back in that clearing, my uniform stained with sweat, dirt and blood, refusing to look at my dead friend lying beside me. The soldier who was only a kid, my little foster brother. The feelings were both identical and alien to each other, slipping into a deadened mindset of pain, fear, grief and guilt.

Time passed. I didn't notice.

"Booth?" A tentative call, barely above a whisper, but strained with anxiety so thick it all but screamed. "Booth?" Again, louder this time and sharper, as though the speaker was no longer able to contain their volume.

I realised, in a distant part of my brain that seemed somehow disconnected from my conscious thoughts, that my name was Booth. It was reasonable to assume then, that this person was looking for me, although I had trouble understanding how that affected me. Should I be doing something?

Before I had the chance to come up with an answer, the voice was suddenly closer, and it was no longer a question.

"Booth!" she all but breathed.

She touched my arm and suddenly my vision cleared, focussing again, as though I'd simply remembered how to see. I tried to move my head, to look at the face I needed to see, but my neck was stiff from being held still for so long.

Somewhat dazed, I tried to move more. My legs, my shoulders. It was like trying to swim through syrup, each movement a great effort that caused my muscles to scream in protest.

Slowly, I started to come back to myself. I could feel her breath, quick and shallow, as she manoeuvred herself around the cramped bathroom so she could see my face. Her fingers brushed my chest and her other hand pulled my chin up gently to see her, crouching low on the bathroom floor.

I caught her gaze and released a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. "Bones."

Her crystal blue eyes widened as she looked at me, and they were brimming with… anguish. There was no other word for it. A cacophony of worry and pain seemed to roll off her in waves.

I looked into her eyes, and it felt like coming home.

"Booth." Her voice shook, "What happened?"

She didn't bother to ask me if I was okay. Always the rational one; no point wasting time asking a question when the answer was so glaringly obvious.

I didn't answer her question. Instead I just said the most important thing.

"Thank you."

Her face softened slightly and she bit her lip. Without another word, she slid one hand under my arm and around my back and grasped my right hand in her other. Her grip was vice-like, as if to reassure herself that I was still there. I gripped back just as hard. Carefully, using Bones to steady my stiff legs, I stood up.

We moved back into the bedroom and I plopped ungracefully down onto the cheap bed, the springs groaning with the weight of my fall.

I hung my head in my hands as she sat down next to me.

"What happened Booth?" she asked again, quietly.

I didn't know where to start. To tell you the truth, I didn't even know where the start was. Did this story start this weekend? Or 8 years ago? Or when I was a kid, and wanted nothing else except to escape from my home life, by physically leaving or just immersing myself totally into something else as a distraction of the cruellest kind?

Bones sat waiting, without a word or any sign to speed up. Another thing I love about my Bones: she knows when to give my time, and when to give me space. Now more than ever I needed her to give me time, but I don't think I could've coped if she'd given me space. She knew it too, and so although all I could see were my hands, I could feel her warmth pressed against my side and her hand gently squeezing my arm. Her fingers traced circles along my bare skin and gave me goosebumps.

"Mark was in the Rangers with me." I began unsteadily. I paused, wondering how to continue. "I haven't seen him in… in a while. But he's getting married tomorrow." I smiled slightly, as I remembered the huge grin he'd seemed incapable of removing all day. Bones noticed and her thumb faltered mid-circle and she squeezed my arm ever so slightly before continuing. "It's always been his dream to get married in Vegas. Sort of ironic really." I laughed without humour.

I paused as my laugh turned bitter and I lowered my head again.

"I thought I'd be okay." I whispered.

Bones went still beside me. Her voice slipped from her soft mouth, near silent and slick as velvet, tender in every respect and weeping with sincerity, the voice of an angel with nothing but concern on her lips.

"Tell me."

**Hope you liked it, please review. Thanks**


	6. Chapter 6

**Next one, hope you're all still liking it. This is the one I am really unsure about so I hope it's okay. Thanks to everyone who reviewed that last chapter, you're great! **

I don't do talking. I mean, opening up to people, discussing my feelings. Sweets is a perceptive kid and, although he looks like a twelve year old in his dad's tie, I had to admit that he's pretty good at his job. But I'd got to feel a bit of sympathy for him when you think he got me and Bones landed as his (I hate to use the word), 'patients.' I have never been the kind of guy who talks about his emotions as though it were weather or sports. Sure, I could talk about real emotion. I told Bones the truth about crappy sex. She knew that I meant every word. But it'd always been easiest to talk to her. Even then, though, we only spoke in generalities. Nothing was specific to me.

Nothing was ever specific to me. Only once, in my entire adult life had I told anyone something genuine about my time in the Rangers, who wasn't there with me. And we'd never broached the subject again, after that one time in the cemetery.

So I guess it's fair to say that I was kind of struggling with how to voice what I wanted to say. I hadn't exactly had much in the way of practice.

I started to speak but the words got stuck in my throat, half-said and I nearly gagged. With effort, I swallowed past the stabbing lump and tried again. This time the words made it past my voice box and I managed to speak. "My Dad drank."

I knew I'd told her that already, but I needed to say it again, out loud. It was the beginning.

I didn't look at her as I spoke; I was too ashamed. Instead I stared at the worn carpet, not really seeing it at all.

"He was… an addict. An alcoholic. A drunkard. There's more than one way to say it. Hundreds." I paused. "But when you're a kid, you don't know any of those words. Don't know what they mean. To me, there was only one name that I knew him by." I felt sick. If I carried on speaking, I was sure I'd throw up. But I couldn't stop. "He was my Dad."

"I… I…" I struggled again, swallowing hard. Bones sat silently beside me, waiting without pressure. Eventually I found a way to start my sentence that was easier to say. "You." I began. "You think it's normal at first. Ever since you can remember, your Dad's best friend is the bottle. He's a good man. Goes to work in the day, most of the time. Church on Sundays. He manages it."

"Then, as you get older, something changes." I stopped, the silence stretching. I skipped the details. "I hid it. We all did. The one thing we did as a family. " I breathed out a laugh that tasted bitter on my dry tongue. "But… it broke us, in every respect. That was the reason I started playing hockey, you know?" I glanced up at her for a quick second, and although she tried to hide it, I knew her too well and I could see that her face was creased with pain. "A place to let go. Just get mad, and hit something." I lowered my voice unconsciously. "And it was an excuse for the bruises."

I rolled my neck with my eyes closed and tried to fight the shaking in my hands, clenching and unclenching my fists.

"We all dealt with it in our way. I… I faced it head on at the time, but afterwards I lived in denial of it all. I threw myself into other things. Anything that would distract me. Girls, cars, sports." I knew my sentences were getting disjointed, but I'd spent so much time trying to ignore these harsh thoughts that it was all coming back to me somehow raw, each suddenly recalled memory like a knife in my side. I paused, yet again. "Poker."

"I knew a guy who knew a guy. It didn't take long for me to realise that this was my chance to escape, at least for a few hours every Thursday and Saturday night. When the chips were out, my entire world existed in that one small room, below Watson's Automotive Supplies."

"It followed me through the army. Was with me through the Rangers. I'd wait hours, days in one position, and when I did I'd be running through imaginary games in my head. Distracting myself again from what I had to do, what I had to face."

I could hear Bones' breathing becoming more unsteady, and her fingers shook slightly on my arm, but she still didn't say a word. Not yet.

"I came back, and nothing was the same. At first I thought the world had changed while I'd been away." I winced through a smile. "Wishful thinking."

"One thing hadn't changed though." I faltered then, and couldn't bring myself to continue. The shame choked me and I couldn't even form words to try and get past the shame that blocked my airways. I was drowning in it. My hands shook uncontrollably and I shuddered, shaking my head slowly, hung limp between my shoulders.

"The game."

Her words, so softly spoken that I wasn't sure I'd even heard her. When I managed to turn my head so that I could see her though, she was looking me directly in the eyes and I could read the words in her gaze, as clear as neon.

"Yeah."

I was silent for a long while after that. I didn't need to say anymore about that story. The rest was as clear as day. Ironic then, that the story's ending was as dark as night.

No, I realised. It wasn't all black night. Through the never ending midnight there was a light. Neon bright and outshining the gloom of the last part of the story. My light at the end of the tunnel. If only I could reach it, past all the murky shadows that gripped at me from the furthest edge of the night.

She understood, without me even needing to say a word. She gently tilted my chin upwards so that I was looking her directly in her eyes, so darkened with worry but still a crystalline pool that seemed to be endless in its depth.

"You were the fourth." I whispered.

Her brow knotted in confusion. "Fourth what?"

"The fourth person in my life I promised myself that I would keep safe. That I would protect from all the crap life throws your way. Just four people in my life who mean enough to me that I don't think I could live with myself if I let them get hurt."

She stopped me then, her voice serious. "Not everything is your fault Booth. If I got hurt it would be my fault, or whoever it was that hurt me. Not yours."

I opened my mouth to speak but she pressed her soft fingers to my dry lips and looked me hard in the eye.

"Do you remember the young boy we found wrapped in a shroud? Dylan Crane. You told me he rescued Kelly Morris from the foster system, that he helped her little brother and treated him like his own. You used a phrase to describe him. You said he had a…" she took a breath to steady herself. "… saviour complex.'" She paused, letting me remember. Giving me time to realise what she was trying to tell me. I took a deep, shuddering breath as her meaning became clearer.

"You are a good man, Booth." Her voice didn't waver and each syllable rang with such surety, such confidence at the truth of her statement that I started to believe her. "But it is not rational or possible for you to save everyone. Or to try and accomplish that alone, without external help. The world is not your responsibility." Her gaze burned with intensity. "Sometimes, the only person you need to save is yourself."

I stared at her in incredulous silence for a moment.

"Life advice. From you."

She smiled and it was almost a wince. "From me. Learned from you."

I smiled then, and it was warmer than I'd felt all night. "My own advice."

Her fingers had left my lips but not my face, and my cheek felt warm where they rested, unconsciously stroking my skin in small circular motions. Her other hand lay against my chest, my heart beating out a steady rhythm underneath her palm.

"I've already conceded to you." She said simply. "You're better than me at interacting with people."

We grinned at each other and I gently rested my forehead against hers. I spoke quietly, barely audible.

"Thank you for my life." I whispered.

"Thank you for mine."

And our lips met in a cascade of tender fire, our hearts synchronised to the symphony of thoughts and feelings left unsaid for too long, beating in unison for the first time.

**Hmmm, so… thoughts? Like I said, this one had me nervous. The next chapter is the last one, and kind of an epilogue. Hope you liked it. Thanks. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Righto, last one. And it's a bit...um, different, but hopefully that's okay. Anyways… here's the reflection/epilogue thing.**

**Epilogue**

Have you ever run, as fast as you can make your legs move, until you physically couldn't run anymore? Running for more than just a sports game, or an exercise programme. The kind of instinctual, primal running that our ancestors used to win that good old game known as 'Survival of the Fittest.' Sprinting until you couldn't take one more step? If you haven't then, let me tell you; it _hurts._

Not the actual running part, although that's painful enough. No, the worst is the aftermath. Your whole body is on fire, because when you're going flat out like that, you use more than just your leg muscles. Your arms, legs, shoulders, chest. They are all screaming agony at you in ways that you didn't realise possible. Like being thrown into a sea of boiling tar, except the pain isn't on your skin, it's under it, seeping into your muscles, each individual fibre being coated in liquid flame.

And that's just your muscles.

Your eyes feel like all the water in them is being slowly frozen. Most people are surprised by that one; the torment in your eyes. But at the time, you don't have a chance to be surprised because all you can hear is a high pitched screaming buzz inside you head, overshadowed only by the fierce beating of your heart, pushed to a limit that's just a little bit more than 'unhealthy'. Each beat sends a throbbing convulsion through your entire body, as you lie there on the floor, unable to move.

The worst of it all though: breathing. Something that normally is so... simple, so easy. _Easy as breathing, _isn't that how it goes?

I hate that phrase.

Every shuddered, shallow breath explodes through your ribcage like a great white shark making a shotgun exit from the water, its massive jaws ripping through your chest with the frenzied desperation of a rabid dog. And they come so fast; one breath then another, each explosion as vicious as the first. Ripping, tearing through your lungs so that by rights, you're sure that they should be totally shredded already.

Each breath is a waste. Even before you've finished inhaling, you know it won't be enough. But you can't make it any deeper, no matter how hard you try. There just isn't enough oxygen in the world to fill your pathetic, decimated lungs.

Now, that kind of exertion? Not something that just a sip of water and a minute on the ground can cure. You can lie there for an hour and still not be able to take a meaningful breath. Sure, after a while your muscles recede from a 'flying meteor' style burn to a simple raging house fire, and they're almost bearable to stand on. But you'll never be able to roast a marshmallow again, not if you don't want ludicrous flashbacks at least.

The recovery for that kind of physical torment is chronic.

I'd run like that once. More than once. I thought I'd managed to get better. Thought I had overcome it.

But as I lay there, the early morning sun sliding through a crack in my hastily drawn curtains, reflecting off the glossy brown hair and soft face that lay comfortably sleeping on my chest, I realised that all my life, I had never managed to take a breath.

I'd been lying there on the floor all these years, gasping for air like a fish out of water, knowing it was futile but convincing myself that I was okay. That I was better.

Now though, she'd shown me the truth. Her very presence had re-inflated my collapsed lungs, had soothed the flames that had refused to die. Just being near her made me a better person, more whole.

It was like I'd been underwater all my life, never knowing that the surface was just a foot above me. She had reached down from above with her hand, grasped at my flailing fingers and pulled me up to face the sun. I had taken a breath that I never knew I needed.

She was oxygen to me.

I was never going to live without her.

**Ta – dah! That's it finished then, I hope you liked it. I've started another story, but that won't be posted until later on in the summer. :] Have a good summer, and thanks for following this thing to the end. Special thanks to those who have reviewed, you've been really kind in your support for this story.**


End file.
